Complicated
by lilynicole1313
Summary: Henricksen's finally got the Winchesters in cuffs, but the evidence is shaky, so he calls in the BAU for backup. However, one of their agents has a small connection to Dean. Will this help or hurt his case? Read to find out, because summaries are the second hardest thing to write (: Dean/OC Warning: Slight AU
1. Prologue

**A/N: So sorry I haven't posted anything lately! I've been working and I had a really bad case of writer's block...BUT I'm back now guys! I'm re-doing Complicated, so please, please read and review again and let me know what you think. :) **

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><p>Prologue: Julian's Bar- August 2004<p>

Dean Winchester pushed the door to Julian's Bar open and walked inside. Dust covered the windowsills and the floor; the tables and bar were clean, however, and almost every booth and chair was full. It wasn't the cleanest bar he'd been in but it would serve his purpose. Ever since Sam left for Stanford and deserted his family, Dean was having trouble finding the effort to do anything; even a basic salt and burn wasn't worth his time. Drinking, however, was his only escape.

Stacey James had been sitting at the end of the bar since five thirty that evening, a half empty bottle of vanilla rum in front of her. Three weeks of drinking every night, to the brink of being wasted in hopes of forgetting. She was horrible at talking out her feelings and always tried to hide behind a cheerful mask around her team. She preferred to drink the pain away. It was the only choice, as shooting Owen Wilder was, unfortunately, illegal. The bar wasn't perfect, but thanks to her standing tab, it worked nicely for her.

_(Stacey's POV)_

I poured my third shot of rum for the night, downing it before I put the bottle back. Julia, the bartender, gave me a sympathetic smile as someone sat down on the barstool beside me. "Strongest thing you got." The stranger asked in a smooth, deep voice.

I peeked through the bright red hair hiding my face from view. He was handsome with short brownish-blonde hair, freckles, and piercing green eyes. I guessed him to be around my age. "Sure thing, cutie." She poured a shot of whiskey for him.

"Leave the bottle, please."

She nodded, moving off to clean the tables. I shifted and tossed my hair over my shoulder. He was hurting too, judging by the forlorn expression on his face and his death grip on the whiskey bottle, clinging to it for life. Suddenly, his eyes met mine and I realized I'd been staring. "Heartbreak?" He asked quietly.

"How'd you guess?" I countered wryly, downing yet another shot of rum.

He nodded toward the half empty bottle in front of me. "You're alone." Raising an eyebrow, he added, "Only reason for a beautiful woman to be in a place like this on her own, unprotected."

I lifted the hem of my shirt just enough to reveal the Glock holstered at my side. "Guess again, hotshot."

"I stand corrected, then."

I laughed. "Same deal for you?"

"Of sorts." He held out his hand. "Dean."

"Stacey." His hands were calloused from years of hard work. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Yahtzee, darling." Dean grinned slightly. "Passing through."

"Really? Where are you headed?" I inquired curiously.

"Baltimore. I gotta meet my old man tomorrow."

I took another drink. "Sounds fun."

"I wish. But you do what you gotta do, you know?"

"Yeah."

We continued talking until Julia announced last call. "So, do you wanna get out of here?" Dean was smiling, but he seemed slightly nervous.

I hesitated. One night stands weren't my usual deal but Dean seemed…different. However, with the amount of alcohol coursing through my system, maybe my profiling instincts were dulled. I didn't care though. "I thought you'd never ask."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One: April 14, 2008

"Hey James, doing anything tonight?" Morgan asked as soon as I opened the door to the bullpen.

"Not you, Morgan." I retorted playfully.

He chuckled. "You keep saying that, but one day…"

"Not as long as I'm around, Chocolate Thunder." Garcia smacked him lightly as she came over to us for the usual good morning gossip session.

"Don't you two have work to do?" I reminded them.

Morgan flicked his pen at me as we both sat down to work on our reports on the last case. About an hour after we settled in our daily routine, FBI Special Agent Victor Henriksen stalked in, heading straight to Hotch's office. Morgan, Prentiss, and I all looked at each other, exchanging startled looks. "Isn't he on the brothers' case?" Emily Prentiss asked curiously.

Spencer Reid, our resident genius, nodded, looking up from his report. "He hasn't been able to keep them in custody, though, or find enough evidence for a jury to convict them."

"So why is he here?" Morgan sighed, leaning back.

"Looks like we're about to find out." I said, standing to my feet as Hotch motioned us to the conference room.

Henriksen tossed each of us two thick files and cleared his throat. "This is the team I hear so many good things about?" He sneered, looking directly at Spencer and Garcia.

Hotch stared at the other agent, his face blank. "The case, Henriksen?"

"The Winchesters. A modern day Bonnie and Clyde, complete with the irrational dependency on each other." Henriksen leaned forward. "My agents arrested them at a crime scene and they're in the first two interrogation rooms."

"What do you need us for then?" Morgan asked slightly rudely.

"Crack them." He opened the top file. "This is Dean." My mouth dropped. The same brilliant, piercing green eyes I remembered from four years ago stared back at me. Hotch glanced at me, raising his eyebrows. I shook my head and turned my attention back to Henriksen. "-leader of the two. If we get Dean to talk, Sam will as well." He paused. "Hotchner, I need your best in there."

"Okay. Morgan, you're with-"

"Hotch, I need to talk to you." I interrupted, standing to my feet.

He led me outside the conference room. "What is it?"

"About four years ago, I had a one-night stand with Dean and we kept in touch until seven or eight months ago."

He sighed. "Do you want off this case?"

"You're the boss. It's your call."

He thought for a few minutes. "You and Spencer are interrogating Sam."

I grabbed Sam's file and Spencer, meeting Morgan at the elevator. "Good luck, James."

"Same to you and Prentiss."

We stepped off the elevator and I stopped outside Sam's room, studying him before we went in. Sam Winchester was handcuffed to the table, leaning back. His eyes were closed and his shaggy brown hair fell almost to his shoulders. "Is he asleep?" Spencer asked quietly.

I opened the door. "Morning, Sam."

He jerked awake as Spencer and I sat down across from him. "Are you my lawyers?" He asked, looking between us.

"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Stacey James and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. We're with the FBI's BAU."

"The Behavioral Analysis Unit? Great." He scoffed.

I placed the file on the table, still closed. "Then we can skip the introductory speech and get started."

"Go ahead, Agent." He said sarcastically.

Apparently, Sam had a problem with authority. Not surprising. "Your academic record is very impressive, especially when you moved around so much as a child. Why was that?" Spencer asked.

"Why was what? My impressive grades or moving around?" Sam countered. "My life is sucky. That's why."

"Really? How's that?"

He pointed to the file. "You've read it. You tell me."

"Was your childhood sucky, too?" I said, finally opening his file. "Being the new kid multiple times must've been hard."

"Life's hard. You learn to deal with it."

"Well, you certainly learned to deal with it. Stanford on a full-ride scholarship? And then, you dropped out. Weeks from graduation and you skipped your interview with Stanford Law School. Why?" Spencer prodded, trying to get him to talk.

"Felt like a good idea at the time."

I held my hand out to Spencer under the table, holding up one finger. He nodded and exited the room, hopefully going to the window to watch and listen. I then leaned forward, making eye contact with Sam, glad his eyes weren't green. "Sam, I'm not trying to convict you. I just want the truth. Drop the attitude and help me help you."

He blinked, his mouth going slack for a second. "Fine." He said after a few minutes. "What do you want to know?"

"Why'd you drop out? You had law school on a silver platter."

He shrugged, picking at a scratch on the table. "I needed a break."

"Understandable. It must've been hard with your girlfriend dying the same way as your mom." I moved a picture of the beautiful blonde, Jessica Moore, over. "She was beautiful. How long were you two together?"

"Almost three years."

"Wow. That's pretty serious." Sam just looked at me. "Sorry. Insensitive. What'd you do after you dropped out?"

"Road trip with my older brother."

"Dean, right?" He nodded. "How's your relationship with him?"

"We're brothers. He annoys the hell out of me, but we're close."

"You'd do anything for him, then?"

"Yeah." Sam's stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting our conversation. "Sorry."

"How long you been in here?" I asked, changing the subject.

"I don't know. Fifteen hours or so."

"Tell you what. I'll go grab you something to eat and you tell me about this road trip and those deaths in your wake across the country."

I walked out into the hall, taking Spencer with me to get something for him to eat. As we passed the interrogation room with Morgan inside, I peeked through the window. Morgan faced away from the window, leaning across the table. Dean, however, was smirking and leaning back as far as possible. "He's pissing Morgan off." Prentiss said, her arms crossed as she watched.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"You two get anywhere?"

Spencer nodded. "Stacey did. She's getting him some food and then, he might tell us what we need to know."

I left Spencer there with Emily, running to the vending machine. When I came back to the interrogation room with a sandwich and a cup of coffee, Sam wolfed it down. "Thanks."

"No problem. Don't want a lawsuit if you pass out in here." I joked. "So, how exactly do you and Dean make money? Neither one of you has a job."

"We work odd jobs."

"What about your down time?"

Sam's eyes flickered down to his lap. "We help people."

"By killing them?"

"We don't kill people!"

"What do you do then?" I responded. "According to the evidence, you and your brother are on a killing spree."

"Well, we're not." He said defiantly. "If I told you the truth, you'd have me committed to the nearest mental institution."

"I've heard everything in the book. Try me."

"You haven't heard this. Trust me." He countered.

I sighed. "I get it. Really, I do. You're scared of what Dean will do if you talk, but Sam, he doesn't have to know."

"If I tell you, will you leave me alone for a while?"

"Yes."

The hard look in his eyes made him look years older than his twenty-six years. "Dean and I hunt…monsters." My mouth dropped. "Things from your worst nightmares like demons, werewolves, witches, and more. We find suspicious deaths all around the country and figure out what's behind it."

I closed my mouth. For him to actually believe what he was saying…but he didn't think it was lie. In fact, he relaxed as he was speaking. I quickly got to my feet and left. Spencer was staring at Sam through the window. "Is he serious?"

"We gotta tell Hotch about this." I said, pulling him down the hall behind me.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Morgan walked in the conference room soon after we finished filling Hotch in on what Sam had said. "Any luck on Dean?" He asked as Morgan huffed loudly.

"Hell no. He's a cocky, smart ass bastard and he's pissing me off."

"Don't let him get to you." Rossi patted Morgan's shoulder.

Hotch sighed. "Let him stew. Stay in here and help Prentiss and Reid on the profile."

Hotch and Rossi then left, shutting Hotch's door behind them. I grabbed a bottle of water from the break room and began going through Sam's file for something to show that he was lying to us. "Anastasia, I need you." Hotch said, motioning me outside.

"Is it that hard to call me Stacey?" I asked, slightly annoyed.

"Do you think you could question Dean?"

"Wouldn't that be against protocol?"

"He knows you. You might have a better shot at getting him to talk."

"That could cost both of us our jobs." I pointed out.

"I know, but we need him to talk." He argued. "Eat lunch and then go talk to him."

"Yes, sir."

After a bacon cheeseburger and spicy fries, I headed back to the interrogation rooms with an extra meal. When I opened the door, Dean was humming Eye of the Tiger by Survivor, playing air guitar as accompaniment. He suddenly stopped as the door clicked shut. "A burger won't make me talk, Agent Muscles."

"Talk or not, the burger's yours." I sat down, dropping his file in front of me. "Dean, right?"

His green eyes widened. "A fed? And I thought you were alright."

"Think about how I feel. You turned out to be a crazy, psychotic serial killer."

He eyes the burger suspiciously. "Put cyanide or truth serum in there, Stacey?"

"Nope. I just thought you'd appreciate some food. Sam was hungry, too."

He hummed in agreement and ate the food. "How long you been a fed?"

"Eight years. How long have you been a serial killer?"

"Does your boss know about that night?" He changed the subject. "You could lose your job."

"He knows." I said dismissively. "Dean, you're in serious trouble here."

He sorted. "Really? I had no idea, Ms. Drew."

"It's Agent James, smartass."

"Look darling, I ain't talking."

"Then I will." I placed pictures of their victims in front of Dean. "You scanned the papers for weird deaths and then copied the M.O., right? That's sick."

He ignored the photos. "You're a profiler. Your job is to figure out who committed a crime based on evidence and clues you guys find, right?"

I nodded, curious to see where he was going with this. "Yeah, pretty much."

"I do basically the same thing, just slightly different."

"I save people, Dean."

"So do I." He snapped. "Tell me something, Agent James. Do you like people shoving photographs in front of you of the ones you couldn't save? I don't!" He swept the pictures off the table onto the floor.

"Either tell me what the hell you're talking about or shut up." I retorted hotly. "Don't you realize that people die in every town you and your brother visit?"

"It's not us!" He was agitated, running his hands through his hair. "It's not, I swear. We hunt monsters."

"Monsters?"

"Demons, vampires, werewolves, you name it." He clarified. "So there. Now you know."

I slammed the door behind me as I left, tired of the monster story. "He doesn't seem to be lying." Spencer commented, walking with me the elevator.

"It doesn't mean he's not. He and Sam could've coordinated this story beforehand."

I tensed as an all-too familiar head of jet black hair passed in front of us. He turned, his warm whiskey eyes landing on my pale blue eyes. "Stacey, you look upset. Bad day?" Agent Owen Wilder asked sweetly.

"It wasn't until you showed up." I muttered, brushing past him.

As soon as we got to the conference room, Spencer told Hotch what was going on. "Dean's saying the same thing as Sam."

"Of course they are. They're brothers, remember?" Rossi said.

"Sir?" Owen poked his head in. "Agent Grayson needs Agent James."

Hotch turned to me. "Be quick, Anastasia."

I reluctantly followed him over to the elevator, but instead of pressing the button for the third floor, we went up to the seventh floor. "Owen, where are we going?"

When he looked at me, his eyes were completely black. "I have a bone to pick with Dean Winchester."

I instinctively backed up, but his eyes were whiskey colored once more. Was it a trick of the light? "You're not on this case."

"No, I'm not." He said, agreeing with me.

Owen yanked me inside Dean's interrogation room a few minutes later, the door locking behind us. "Going to yell at me some more, darling?" Dean asked lightly, not turning around.

"She's not. But I am." Dean turned to look at us and Owen grinned. "So good to see you topside again, Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed and Owen's grip on my arm tightened. "Pretty smart, infiltrating a federal building to drag me back down."

"Oh no. I need you for something else." I was confused, but then, Owen's eyes flashed back again.

"Then why is Stacey here?"

"Leverage." I suddenly felt Owen's gun barrel against my head. "Do what I want, she doesn't die. You don't, and there's more blood on your hands, Winchester."

I took a deep breath, knowing this wasn't the first hostage situation I'd been on the wrong side of. "Owen, why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Owen's on vacation, bitch." His voice was rougher than normal. "But he's okay with me blowing your brains out for him."

Dean was fidgeting under the table and I heard the click of the handcuffs. As he stood up, he slipped something in his pocket. "How long you been wearing him?" Dean changed the subject, backing up to the wall that bordered Sam's room.

"About as long as you've been back, so eight months I think." While Owen was talking, Dean rapped on the wall in a pattern of two-three-three. "Long enough to get to know Stacey."

Sam burst through the doorway a few long minutes later, a bobby pin in his hand. He locked gazes on Owen, still gripping my arm painfully tight and holding the gun to my hand. "Seriously? Another black-eyed bastard?"

"Yahtzee, Sammy, and we have nothing."

"Shit."

Owen laughed. "Problem, boys?"

Dean glanced over at me. "Stacey, if Sam leaves this room, will he get shot?"

Sudden commotion and noise in the hall told me the team was right outside. "Hopefully not." I said as calmly as I could.

Dean nodded at Sam, who ducked out. The door clicked shut behind him loudly, making me jump. "Let her go."

"Why should I?" He pressed the gun harder against my hair. "She's nothing to you. Just a good fuck you had a long time ago."

"She's innocent."

Owen snorted. "Hardly."

"What the hell do you want from me?" Dean snapped. "Quit bullshitting and tell me!"

"I want…freedom to watch the coming show. And you dead after suffering by watching the pretty ginger and your dear brother die slowly and painfully, much like you used to help us with, remember?" He paused, adjusting his grip on my arm. "Do you think she has a soul?"

The second his fingers loosened, I kicked my foot back, hitting him in the crotch, and flipped him onto the table. Owen snarled, lifting his hand, and I was floating in midair. Dean lunged toward Owen, but the agent ducked, sending Dean sprawling on the floor. "Nighty-night, Stacey."

"Wha-" He flicked his wrist and I hit the wall.

The last thing I saw was Sam running back inside with a silver flask in his hands.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Stacey! Stacey, god dammit, wake up!"

It took all of my strength to open my eyes. A splitting headache greeted me when I tried to sit up and I cried out in pain. "Whoa! Hold still, sweetie." Morgan held my shoulders down, keeping me from moving.

"What happened?" I asked, wincing from the rush of pain from moving my jaw.

"Your agent was possessed." Dean spoke quietly, sitting back on his haunches.

"Possessed?" Henriksen repeated in disbelief. "Possessed by what?"

"A demon, Victor." Dean answered.

"Where is he?"

"He didn't survive the exorcism." Sam said apologetically.

"He was my best agent! He's the one who told me you two were coming to Quantico!" Henriksen yelled.

"Owen's dead?" I sat up straight in shock, ignoring the flash of pain.

"Sometimes, the exorcisms don't work. The demon refused to let him go." Dean explained. "When that happens, they usually die."

"This is what you two do, then?" Hotch asked, shaking slightly as he sank down into a chair.

"Why were you two coming here, anyway?" Henriksen said suddenly.

"We read about a couple weird deaths around here and wanted to check it out." Sam began.

"Of course, we weren't expecting to be ambushed by Victor in the diner a couple days ago." Dean added.

An odd silence fell over the room. "They're going to have to stay in town, preferably in your custody while I figure out what to do about them and their warrants." Henriksen broke the tension.

"They can stay with me." I offered.

"You need to get checked by a doctor." Hotch said sternly. "Not worrying about the Winchesters."

"Look, you're going to make me stay home tomorrow, anyways. And this is nothing a drink and a couple aspirin can't handle. No doctor needed."

"Morgan, drive them to her house then."

"Whoa. I can drive. No way in hell I'm leaving my baby here unsupervised for three days." I protested.

"Anastasia-" Hotch started.

"No. I'll be fine. See you guys Monday." I grabbed my jacket and purse.

Dean and Sam followed me to the parking lot, straight to my sleek black 1969 Chevy Corvette Stingray. Dean whistled appreciatively. "Nice ride."

"Thanks. I bought her for five hundred-frame only."

"Who restored her?" He asked as we sped onto the highway.

"I did." I answered. "It took me a year and lots of blood, sweat, and tears, but I got her done."

When we pulled up to my house, I noticed my best friend, Lucas Blake, wasn't home yet. It was probably for the best though, as he could be a little crazy. I unlocked the front door and let the brothers in. "Nice place." Sam said, looking around.

"Thanks." I heard the purr of Lucas's Porsche pull up. "Guest room's all the way down the hall, last door on your left. Bathroom's next to it."

"Awesome." Dean and Sam headed to the room.

The door opened again and Lucas's smooth voice filtered into the kitchen. "Stacey, I need alcohol!"

I poured him a glass of red wine and handed it to him, sitting down in my recliner. "Bad day, Luke?" I asked as he kissed me on the cheek.

"It was horrible." He sighed dramatically as Dean and Sam came back to the living room. Lucas's grey eyes scanned Sam quickly and his lips curled up in a happy smirk. "Is it my birthday, dearie?"

"Down boy." I grinned. "Sam, Dean, this is Luke, my best friend and roommate. Luke, this is Sam and Dean Winchester. They'll be staying with us for a few days."

He turned to me, his eyes lit up mischievously. "Is this the same Dean you talked to for over three years after that night at Julian's?"

Dean smirked. "You talked about me?"

"Don't you two need some sleep or something?"

"Actually, yeah. Come on, Sammy. We have to talk."

As soon as the guest door shut, Lucas plopped down on the couch, listening as I filled him in on everything that's happened. "Holy shit." He breathed. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. They just have to stay here until Henriksen decides what to do." Dean and Sam sat down, a disgruntled expression on Dean's face. "Problem?"

"Yeah. Victor still has my car keys." He grumbled.

"Can't you pick the lock like you did with the handcuffs?"

"Uh, no. I'm not scratching up my baby."

"Alright, then." I shook my head. "Pizza?"

Lucas smiled happily. "I already did. Two large supreme and one medium pepperoni. Think that's enough?"

I nodded. Sam turned his gaze to Dean. "So, how exactly do you two know each other?"

"We met at a bar about four years ago, right before you came back and we ended up sleeping together."

"That's it?" Sam scoffed. "I figured it was more than that. You talked to her for a while."

"Speaking of, what gives?" I asked. "You stopped texting or calling about-"

"Eight months ago." Dean finished. "Yeah. I, uh, didn't have a phone where I went."

"And where was that? The Congo?"

He chuckled. "It was about as hot."

When the pizza arrived, conversation ceased. "Where are we sleeping?" Sam asked, swallowing the last bite.

"You can always sleep with me." Lucas said, winking at Sam.

I slapped his arm. "Either both of you in the guest room or one of you can sleep on the couch."

"Thanks, Agent." Sam got to his feet. "Mind if I take a shower?"

"Not at all. Make yourself at home, Sam."

He ducked into the hallway, closing the bathroom door behind him. "You got an extra bathroom?" Dean yawned, stretching.

"Yeah. Down the short hall behind us in my room. Door's open."

Thirty minutes later, Lucas was in his room and Sam was passed on in the guest room. "Guess I'm on the couch then." Dean said jokingly. "Sam takes up the whole bed."

I chuckled, working on my report. "If you're not okay with that, I can sleep in here."

"No can do."

"Okay, okay. Need a blanket or pillow?"

Dean shook his head. "I'll be alright." He paused. "I'm really glad we met again, even though it was under these sucky circumstances."

"Me too."

He kissed my cheek. "Night, darling."

"Good night, Dean."

On Sunday afternoon, my last full day with the Winchesters, Sam was already looking for another case and Dean and I were outside in the pool. "What's after this for you?" I asked curiously.

He shrugged. "Back to normal, I guess."

"Are you going to keep in touch this time?" I realized we were almost touching and I moved to back up, but Dean's rough hands landed gently on my hips, stopping me.

"Do you want me to?" He asked quietly, not breaking eye contact with me.

"Yes." I moved my arms from my side to around his neck. "Yes, I do."

He grinned, touching his forehead to mine. "Good. So, since this is hopefully my last night, can we…"

"Not until Henriksen makes a decision, Dean." I said regretfully.

"You have visitors!" Sam yelled from inside.

Dean and I grabbed towels and wrapped them around our waists. "Hotch! What are you and Henriksen doing here?" I asked, surprised to see them.

"You and your brother are cleared of all charges." Henriksen said suddenly, speaking to Dean. "And, since we couldn't find your car, here's the key."

"Well, well. Looks like you proved me wrong, Victor." Dean placed the key on the table behind him. "Thanks, Agent."

Hotch and Henriksen shook hands with the Winchesters. "Good luck with whatever it is you two do." Hotch said politely.

"Stay safe." Henriksen added. "You need anything, don't hesitate to call."

"Thanks again, agents."

Sam went back to his laptop and Dean left to go find his car. I dove back into the pool, getting five laps in before I heard a smooth running car pulled into the driveway. Dean then rejoined me in the water. "Now, where were we, darling?"

"I was turning you down." I said cheekily, swimming away.

"Too bad." He caught up with me. "I guess I'll go get Sam and we'll leave."

I grabbed his arm. "One more night won't hurt."

"Maybe not."

Later that night, Dean was stretched out on my bed beside me. He smelled the same as before-leather, musk, whiskey, and something uniquely Dean. "I'm glad you're not a psychopath."

He rolled his eyes. "I'd say I'm glad you're not a fed, but-"

"Oh shut up." I straddled his waist, lacing our fingers together. "You better not stop talking to me this time."

"I have a better idea." He reversed our positions, brushing his lips against mine. "How about you come with me and Sam for a couple weeks?"

"Will Sam care?"

"He'll be fine with it." Dean assured me. "Now stop talking, darling."

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam almost yelled the next morning. "She's not going!"

Sam's loud voice woke me up and I stumbled out of bed, wondering what was going on.

"Sam, stop being stupid. She's going with us. Go get your bags."

"She's a civilian!" Sam argued. "She could get herself or us hurt!"

"Do you have a problem with me going?" I asked, moving in between Sam and Dean.

"This job isn't for everyone, Agent."

"Neither is mine, Sam."

After I let Hotch know I was taking two weeks of my vacation time, I packed a duffel bag and locked my Corvette in the garage. "You ready, darling?"

"Yeah."

He tossed our bags into the trunk of the sleek black 1967 Chevy Impala and I climbed in, sitting between the brothers. "Welcome to greasy diners, shitty motel rooms, and living nightmares. Think you can handle it?"

"I'm pretty sure I can, Dean."

He rested his hand on my knee. "Good. Get ready for the most fun you've ever had."

Sam scoffed, scooting toward the window. I sighed. This was going to be a long two weeks.


End file.
